


The Road to Broðorsibba

by gwyllion



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Bodyswap, Comeplay, Knotting, Light BDSM, M/M, Marking, Slavery, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllion/pseuds/gwyllion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a falling-out with his father, Arthur finds himself imprisoned by two young Druids. He spends a winter in captivity where he learns that he is to become the greatest ruler of Albion. Although Arthur embraces his destiny, he doesn't suspect that fulfilling his earthly purpose may have dire consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road to Broðorsibba

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mssdare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/gifts).



> The Road to Broðorsibba was written as a pinch hit for Merlin Holidays 2014. Thanks to my cheerleader and beta, gilli_ann, who helped improve this fic tremendously, to lawgoddess, who looked it over for me at Christmastime, and to the awesome Merlin Holidays mods for running this wonderful fest.  
> To mssdare: You were no sloth when it came to making up prompts for this fic! It was my absolute pleasure to write it for you. Thanks so much for the awesome prompts that you left in your gift request. I chose one of your plot requests and I also threw in a kitchen sink’s worth of your additional likes. I’m wishing you and your loved ones a very Merry Christmas and a magical Merlin holiday!  
> Old English: broðorsibba - _kinship_

Arthur awoke to the dank stench of wet hay and rotting vegetables. He scrambled to sit upright in the darkness, his boots scraping through the slurry of mud on the stone floor. He ached all over.

“Hello?” he called, his voice rasping from thirst.

But there was no answer.

He felt as if his captors must have tied him to the back of a horse to bring him here. With his hands bound behind him, the ache in Arthur's shoulders found no relief. Furious at the lack of an answer, he flailed like a rabbit caught in a snare. The clang of the iron cuffs echoed off the stone walls of his prison as he fought to wrench his hands free. He only succeeded in scraping open the wounds his wrists had suffered at the rough treatment of the men who had seized him.

“I am Arthur Pendragon,” he called out.

Still, no one answered from the darkness.

His chest heaved with a fit of coughing in the damp air.

When he shuddered to a stop, Arthur got his feet beneath him. Finding a wall to lean against for support, he gritted his teeth while his knees went weak from hunger. He pressed his back to the wet stones and picked his way toward the entrance of the cell. A chain limited his progress, stopping him with a jerk to his wrists before he could sense the dungeon gate with a puff of his frozen breath.

Beyond the cell’s entrance, a dim shaft of light pierced the darkness. It vaguely illuminated the crumbled stone stairway beyond the gate behind which his captors had sealed him.

“Show yourself,” Arthur shouted, when he got his bearings.

But no captor’s footsteps touched the stairs.

“I am the Prince of Camelot,” Arthur said to the thin air. “My father, King Uther Pendragon, will pay a handsome price for my safe return.”

Arthur hoped he sounded convincing, although he questioned what his father’s state of mind would be when he realized Arthur was missing. For all Arthur knew, Uther might be glad to be rid of his son.

Arthur leaned against the wall. The wet stones soaked his shirt. He hung his head and tried to listen for his captor’s return.

Only the steady drip of melting snow broke the silence. It ran through the cracks in the stone walls that trapped Arthur. It mixed with the dirt on the floor in a filthy mess.

Arthur didn't know how many hours had passed since he had been cast into the cell. It could have been days, for all he could tell. Or it might have been weeks that he lay unconscious, waking only to sip moisture from the drip on the floor. He flexed his wrists in their cuffs, tugging experimentally to see if he could get loose. He thought perhaps if he were gentle in his efforts he could get free—but it was futile.

He sank to the muddied floor, wishing that he hadn't ridden from Camelot without telling anyone which direction he travelled. But there was no time to tell anyone that he fled... not when he fled from his own father.

Arthur feared that Uther had lost his mind.

~~~

“No son of mine will go without a mate,” Uther said, the vein in his forehead threatening to burst. “If I have to find a serving boy for him to fuck, so be it.”

The council members murmured among themselves in the great hall.

Arthur’s cheeks blushed crimson. He could not believe his father’s outspoken words about his choice of a mate. For all of his twenty-first year he felt like he was a prized bull on display for those who would bid for his seed. Each time he refused a princess from a far off kingdom, he earned his father’s displeasure.

The passing years had not been kind to Uther.

This past summer, Arthur had witnessed his father’s execution of Jonas, the blacksmith’s half-wit son, for failing to bow when Uther passed him on the street of the lower town.

A fortnight ago, when Dastan, the miller, charged his apprentice with theft, Uther had drawn his own sword and sliced the boy’s hand clean off. Arthur wanted to turn away as the blood drained from the teen’s stunted limb, leaving a pool of slippery gore on the floor of the council chamber. Instead, he remained at Uther’s side, trying to make sense of his father’s actions until the council had disbanded and his father dismissed him.

Arthur feared that he would be the next victim of Uther’s rage.

Poor Gwen stayed behind to clean the mess. She didn’t return to serve Arthur and Morgana’s dinner until long after dark. Her hands still trembled as she lit additional candles to ward off the chill that spread through the castle, now as cold as Uther’s countenance.

If Morgana was shaken by the king’s method of punishment, she didn’t discuss it openly, but Arthur was certain that Morgana was just as affected by Uther’s outburst as he. They ate in silence. Perhaps Morgana feared Uther’s next action as much as Arthur did.

Arthur planned to speak of it with Morgana the following morning after Gwen had served their breakfast, but he regretted starting the day with talk of blood that had been shed in something other than a hunt or sport. In the morning light, his hand caught Morgana’s wrist before she could leave with Gwen to gather the fragrant pinecones that had fallen from the trees in the first frost of the year.

“My father,” Arthur said, his throat suddenly dry.

Morgana’s attention roamed to Arthur’s thumb that carefully stroked the pale skin of her wrist. She raised her eyes to Arthur’s, the calm green questioning Arthur’s purpose.

“Our father,” Morgana said.

“He means well,” Arthur said, stilling his hand.

“He’s losing his mind,” Morgana said without taking her gaze off Arthur’s fingers. “You need to choose a mate, or he’ll never give you the throne.”

Arthur dropped Morgana’s hand.

How could he ascend to the throne when none of the mates his father selected met with his approval? Arthur had forgotten many of the princess’s names that had left Camelot in disappointment. Perhaps he should take a male consort, as Uther had demanded in his last words before Arthur rode off. Even a bedslave would be a preferable choice in Uther’s eyes at this point. He only had to prove his virility. A bride could come later. But Arthur took little interest in pleasures of the flesh.

He had long suspected that he was unlike other men.

Uther knew nothing about it. Igraine’s death occupied Uther’s mind after Arthur’s birth. He never noticed the swell of flesh at the base of Arthur’s cock. The nursemaids who tended to the infant prince did not make mention of it when they gossiped about the tragedy that befell Camelot. A dead queen and a king suspected of using magic to give him a son provided enough fodder for discussion in the kitchens.

As Arthur grew, he had used his own hand to strip his cock since he first discovered his capacity for pleasure. It had sufficed. But now Uther demanded that he find a mate or take a bedslave to prove his interest in siring an heir one day. The idea of taking someone to bed just to make a point disgusted him.

After Uther’s declaration, Arthur rode from Camelot, furious at his father’s edict. Over meadows and through the forest, Arthur urged Hengroen onward. When the morning passed, Arthur stopped by a brook and allowed the horse to drink. The steam rose from Hengroen’s back as he slurped at the water. Arthur rested against a thick oak tree, sorry that he hadn’t worn a cloak to ward off the chill.

As his shirt dried, Arthur’s mind churned over his father’s latest disappointment with him. He picked at the curling leaves that littered the ground beneath the tree. As the prince who would someday rule over Camelot as king, Arthur had sought only to gain his father's respect. But with every princess with whom Uther tried to match him, he grew more restless. Although Uther seemed increasingly intent on matching him with the daughter of a neighbouring ruler, it seemed that every kingdom near and far had been tested for the presence of a suitable mate. But none were what Arthur craved.

Arthur’s eyes scanned the horizon. He had ridden to the northern border of the kingdom and the dense forest that lay beyond. To the west lay Nemeth, home of Mithian and her father, Rodor. Beyond that, Godwyn ruled Gawant and had once sought a match for the Princess Elena. King Olaf’s kingdom bordered the northern realm, a wild tangle of tall brambles and thistle passing for a forest. The tales of Arthur’s youth suggested that the thistled wood was ruled by a king who practiced magic. No one had ever seen the king before, so Arthur attributed the tale to his nursemaid’s overactive imagination. If he had been in the company of his men, he might have decided to explore the tangle beyond, but the day grew late and Arthur needed to return to Camelot to face his father’s next absurd demands.

Arthur braced himself against the tree and got to his feet. Shivering against the cold, he took Hengroen’s reins and prepared to mount when he heard a rustling of leaves. He turned from the horse to see a dozen Druid men emerge from the forest. Each man wore a simple cloak. Arthur tried to read the words that were etched into their bare chests, but it was written in a language of runes that he did not understand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a white-haired Druid asked Arthur.

Beyond the trees, invisible horses whickered in the chilly air.

“I’m riding back to Camelot,” Arthur replied, as if it were a simple as that, when he had ridden far from home without a weapon or a cloak.

“This is not the way back to Camelot,” the Druid said. “This is the road to Broðorsibba.”

And then, for Arthur, everything turned black.

~~~

“Wake up,” a gentle voice whispered in the darkness.

“What?” Arthur mumbled, lost in a dream.

“You’ve slept long enough,” the voice said more loudly, but with the same sweet tone.

“Where am I?” Arthur asked, but the ache in his wrists reminded him that he was chained to a wall in a putrid-smelling dungeon. 

“I think we should leave him here,” a deeper voice said.

In the darkness, Arthur fought to see his captors. Somewhere above them, further up the stairs, a door must have been left open. It allowed the dim light from above to fall down the passageway. Arthur could make out the shadows of two men who stood at the gate to his cell. One man began to turn away.

“Don’t leave me here,” Arthur pleaded.

“Don’t listen to Mordred,” the man with the sweet voice said. Tall and slender, he pressed his hands against the iron gate. The second man, Mordred, had a head crowned with dark curls. His cloak fell open and Arthur could see the same runic figures etched into his chest as his captors had. In the dark cell, the strange letters glowed like the most brilliant candlelight on Mordred’s skin.

The man who was not Mordred slid his hand over the lock on the cell door. His eyes flared gold for an instant and the lock clicked open.

Arthur scrambled backward until he reached the far wall. These men were sorcerers.

“Leave me be!” Arthur shouted.

“See?” Mordred said. “He wants to be left alone.”

“We’ll do no such thing,” the first sorcerer said, laying a placating hand on Mordred’s upper arm. “Leave him to me.”

“Very well, my lord,” Mordred said. He turned to leave, but before he did, he leaned to press his lips to the other sorcerer’s mouth.

The sorcerer wove his fingers through Mordred’s hair and pulled him closer. Arthur was stirred by this show of emotion among the magic users. He had been taught to fear magic for all of his life. Nothing good could come of it, so the unexpected warmth took him by surprise.

Mordred nodded to Arthur before he turned to climb the steps. Even in this dim light, Arthur could see that he was grown, but not quite a man. No razor had ever touched his face and his chest was bare, besides the strange runes that decorated it in the darkness.

When Mordred disappeared from view, the remaining sorcerer leaned against the gate. He spoke softly to Arthur again.

“My name is Merlin,” he said. “Mordred and I mean you no harm.”

“You must let me go back to Camelot,” Arthur demanded, hoping that Merlin would show him some respect. Merlin must know that he was a prince, mustn’t he? If not, Arthur hoped that Merlin would take pity on him, thinking him a hapless prisoner, a peasant who his men mistakenly captured.

“I will, Arthur,” Merlin said moving closer so Arthur could see his face. “I can assure you that we only want what’s best for you.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Arthur asked. “After your men have carried me here and chained me to a wall.”

“Our men?” Merlin asked.

“Your men,” Arthur said. “They were dressed in Druid robes. They had the same markings on their chests as Mordred.”

“Oh, yes,” Merlin said with a smile that made his sharp cheekbones catch the light. “I understand your confusion.”

“There’s nothing to be confused about,” Arthur said, his nostrils flaring. “They were your men.”

“Not _men_ ,” Merlin said, “but mere wisps of illusion that Mordred and I conjured. I hoped they would bring the prince to us.”

“They looked real enough to me,” Arthur said, flexing his wrists. He leaned away from the back wall of the cell where he had huddled. Merlin seemed less fearsome now that Mordred had left, but Arthur still wondered if he should fear the illusion of an army that were somehow only apparitions.

“I thank you for your compliment, then,” Merlin said folding his hands in front of his waist. He wore a robe like Mordred’s, but no runes marked his pale skin, only the smudges of dark pink nipples. From his appearance, Arthur guessed that Merlin was at least as young as Mordred. With their dark hair and startling blue eyes, perhaps the young men were twins. “Our work as sorcerers is rarely remarked upon.”

“It wasn’t meant as a compliment,” Arthur snapped.

Merlin frowned and Arthur immediately realized his mistake. If he had any hope of being released, he’d do well to curb his insults toward the sorcerers.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “You and Mordred, you are brothers?”

Merlin’s fingers trailed over the lock that had sealed the cell gate. “Not in the human sense,” Merlin said. “True, we were both born of nature, but I probably can’t expect you to understand the kinship shared by all living things.”

“I think I can manage to understand it well enough,” Arthur said.

“Is that so?” Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I can understand the connection that the Druids have with nature, if that’s what you mean,” Arthur said. “You and Mordred may not be born of the same mother, but you share a brotherhood nonetheless.”

“As do all men,” Merlin said. He smiled brilliantly back at Arthur and for a moment Arthur thought he had gained what ground he had lost when he insulted him. “You are as wise as you are handsome, Arthur Pendragon. Someday, you will make a great king.”

“So,” Arthur said with a forced grin, “you know who I am. Will you now loosen my restraints?”

“I can do much more than that,” Merlin said.

Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyes flared with a rush of golden light. The iron cuffs that bound Arthur’s wrists dropped to the floor in a clatter.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Arthur said grudgingly, rubbing each wrist with the opposite palm, easing the pins and needles away.

Merlin’s fingers unlatched the lock and slid the gate open. He offered his hand to Arthur.

“There will be time enough to thank me for all that I will do for you. Now, if you’ll come with me,” Merlin said.

Arthur took a step forward, but hesitated when he reached the cell door. All his life, Arthur had been taught the dangers of sorcery. To follow Merlin seemed to go against everything that his father instilled in him. But there was something about Merlin that beckoned Arthur’s trust, making him forget about the dank cell where he had been imprisoned.

“And you mean me no harm?” Arthur asked, needing Merlin’s assurance, no matter that his words may have no value.

Merlin stepped forward and took Arthur’s hand.

Arthur shivered at the difference in temperature between the chill of the cell and the warmth of Merlin’s fingers. A frisson ran through him from his fingertips to his toes.

“You must trust me,” Merlin said.

Arthur lowered his eyes to look at their joined hands. Merlin’s long fingers caressed Arthur’s palm.

“It seems that I don’t have another choice,” Arthur said.

“You’ve been injured,” Merlin said, turning Arthur’s hand to see the marks the iron cuffs had left on his wrist. He took both Arthur’s hands in his.

Arthur relished in the warmth of Merlin’s hands. In silence, Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyes flared with gold, the bruises and scrapes on both his wrists disappearing painlessly. 

“I promise, we’ll take very good care of you before you return to your kingdom,” Merlin said, tugging Arthur’s hand and leading him up the stairs.

~~~

Arthur’s boots left a track of mud on the stones that paved the corridor.

“I'm sorry it took us so long to find you,” Merlin said as they walked. “Mordred and I thought we had checked every possible hiding place, before we remembered the old dungeon.”

None of this made any sense to Arthur. He shook his head and asked, “Why did you have to search for me? Didn’t you put me there yourself?”

Merlin stopped when they arrived at the end of the torch-lit passageway. He turned and pressed his palm to Arthur's chest. “Our army of Druids may only live in our minds, but they are tricksters. We never know quite where to look for the prizes they bring us,” Merlin said, his eyes bright.

“I’m a prize, then?” Arthur asked, remembering how his father displayed him to the kings of the nearby realms as a potential prize for their daughters. He stepped backward, breaking the connection with Merlin.

Merlin looked at his raised hand before lowering it. “We don’t get visitors often,” Merlin said, “especially not men of noble birth.”

“Well, you have a funny way of welcoming nobility,” Arthur said. “I don't understand how you didn't know I was in the dungeon all this time.” He wanted to be angry, but Merlin's hand had felt warm against his damp tunic and the promise of more heat seemed to be reason enough to not annoy the sorcerer.

“I hope you weren't terribly inconvenienced,” Merlin said, licking his lips. The torch-lit corridor confirmed Merlin's youth. The glow of the fire washed across his face, revealing perfectly smooth skin without wrinkle or blemish.

Conscious that he was staring at Merlin's lips, Arthur looked away.

“And you were only there since noon,” Merlin said rapping Arthur's shoulder with the knuckles of one hand. “I find it hard to believe that a warrior of your status couldn’t tolerate those squalid conditions for more than a few hours.”

Arthur wanted to call Merlin a liar. He was certain that he had been in the dungeon for days. He didn’t appreciate Merlin insulting his prowess at surviving adversity.

“I'll have you know, I'm not accustomed to such poor treatment,” Arthur said. “I’m a prince!”

Merlin smiled knowingly. “And someday you will rule over all of Albion. You must forgive me. Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, stopping at a pair of double doors at the end of the passage they had walked. “And surely you must be hungry?”

Merlin opened the doors and Arthur followed him into a dimly-lit hall with high vaulted ceilings and windows that towered from the floor to the roof.

“What's taken you so long?” Mordred asked, pushing the heavy drapes aside from a window to let more light into the room. When the light fell on Mordred’s chest, the runes that marked his skin in the darkness vanished into the smooth flesh.

Outside the window, fat flakes of snow had begun to fall. Arthur watched as Mordred pulled another set of drapes open, revealing an expanse of forest outside the castle where Arthur had been held captive.

“We weren't gone but a moment longer than you,” Merlin said. He left Arthur at the door and strode across the floor to Mordred.

Arthur couldn't hear what the young sorcerers whispered to each other as they reunited with another kiss. While he watched Mordred's hands slide across Merlin's shoulders and down the back of Merlin's cloak, his cock twitched with arousal. He distracted himself by admiring the thick furs that were piled on the floor in front of the fireplace. Against the far wall, a table laden with food caught Arthur’s attention. He walked toward it, his hunger making his stomach rumble. Platters piled with sliced meats and cheeses, bowls of fresh fruit, and a pitcher of wine beckoned to him.

“Go ahead,” Mordred said, looking Arthur up and down as if he were a piece of meat hanging in the butcher shop. “We don’t mean for you to suffer.”

“Yes, please eat,” Merlin said, stepping toward him. “There’s plenty here to satisfy you.”

Arthur felt Merlin's eyes rove over him as he tucked into a bowl of red grapes. He chewed the sweet fruit and snatched a piece of cheese from a platter.

Merlin took the pitcher from the table and poured wine into a gem-encrusted goblet.

“And please have something to drink,” Merlin said, handing him the goblet. “It will help to take the chill off. It’s a shame you were in the dungeon for so long.”

Arthur regarded Merlin sceptically, but his thirst was too great to refuse. Without taking his eyes off Merlin, he sipped from the goblet. The wine slid down his throat, warming him from the inside out.

Mordred joined them at the table. With a wave of Merlin’s hand, a tray of piping hot dumplings filled with fragrant meats appeared before them.

Arthur watched Merlin nod and smile at Mordred. Their connection was so strong that Arthur almost felt like he was intruding on a private moment between the two. Remembering his manners, he took a dumpling from the platter, hoping he could make his way back to Camelot soon if he gained the men’s favour.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Arthur said, taking a bite. The pastry melted in his mouth.

Through the windows, Arthur watched as the snow fell harder. He shivered, grateful for the warmth of the fire, his belly thankful for the food Arthur was offered. He feared that he might not make it back to Camelot this night, even if the men released him and showed him the way. But the ache in his loins told him that a night spent with the sorcerers would be more tolerable than he imagined.

“You must tell us, what brought you so near our forest?” Merlin asked, gently laying his hand on Arthur’s upper arm.

Merlin’s sweet voice and his kind eyes all but shattered Arthur’s anger at being held captive. The warmth of his hand only added to Merlin’s charm.

“I rode out of Camelot for a day of exploring,” Arthur said. “I hardly imagined your men would capture me and bring me to you.”

“Is that _all_ you were doing?” Mordred asked.

Arthur schooled his expression. He didn’t want to divulge his reasons for fleeing Camelot to the young Druids.

Merlin patted Arthur’s shoulder and nibbled on a slice of sugared apple. “Go ahead, you can tell us,” he said.

Arthur’s shoulders relaxed at Merlin’s words. He seemed to be sincere. “I had planned a leisurely visit to the northern border of the kingdom,” Arthur said, taking a sip of wine. 

“It seems strange for a prince to be riding without a retinue,” Mordred said.

“And with no food and little clothing to shelter him against the weather,” Merlin added, licking his fingers.

“Were you exiled?” Mordred asked.

Arthur choked on his wine. “No,” Arthur insisted. “Of course not. I’m the king’s son.”

“Kings have disowned their children before,” Merlin said. He left Arthur’s side and walked toward the fireplace.

“Perhaps if he thought he had a good reason to disown you, he would do it?” Mordred said.

“I gave him no such reason,” Arthur said. He tried to let his frustration go. His father’s reason for being angry with him was none of Mordred and Merlin’s business. He went to the fireplace and watched Merlin add logs to the fire.

With a gentle wave of his hand, Merlin raised a log from the neat stack that rested against the wall. He held the log suspended in mid-air before he directed it onto the red coals with a twist of his fingers.

Arthur sensed that he had nothing to fear from the golden flash of magic in Merlin’s eyes. He sipped his wine, wondering if Uther’s stories about the evil of magic grew from the same seeds that bloomed now as his recent madness. 

“You’re very talented,” Arthur said when the log caught fire.

“I’ve studied my whole life to learn how to use my magic,” Merlin said with pride. “Spells, mostly. I can perform many acts without even speaking the words aloud.”

“I’m sure you’re the envy of sorcerers everywhere,” Arthur said.

“We all have our talents,” Mordred said, startling Arthur who hadn’t noticed that he joined them at the fire.

“There’s no need to be jealous, Mordred,” Merlin said, placating him.

Arthur felt pleased that his admiration of Merlin’s magic had stirred up some rivalry between the pair of Druids. Perhaps their disagreement could forge an opening for Arthur to escape their realm and make his way back to Camelot in the morning. He hoped he might still find Hengroen wandering the forest nearby.

“I’m not jealous,” Mordred said. His eyes raked over Arthur. “Merlin has mastered the ancient spells, as you can see.”

Merlin looked pleased with himself. A smile made his cheeks blush in the firelight.

“I, however, have mastered other skills,” Mordred said.

Arthur couldn’t resist asking, “And _what_ have you mastered, Mordred?”

“I could be your worst fear realized,” Mordred said, his eyes burning through Arthur, his tone sharp.

For a moment Arthur was worried that he had irrevocably offended the Druid.

“Or your greatest desire,” Merlin added tenderly.

Arthur bit back a laugh at Merlin’s response. He knew sorcerers could possess powers that no human could imagine. It would not serve him well to ridicule these strange brothers of nature.

“Do you want me to show you?” Mordred asked.

Arthur looked to Merlin, but Merlin did not indicate that Arthur should refuse Mordred.

“Go ahead,” Arthur said. He leaned against the wall, rested his hand atop the mantle, and watched. 

Mordred stood by the window. He unfastened the braided belt that wound around his middle, holding his cloak in place. He dropped his cloak to the floor and before Arthur’s eyes, his appearance changed. He transformed. First, the mop of curls that crowned his head fell into long loose tendrils that covered his shoulders. His waist narrowed and his hips grew wide. From his unmarked chest, a pair of ripe breasts rose, his nipples peaked from the draft that squeezed under the windowsill. Below, Mordred’s cock that had swung lax when he parted his robe seemed to disappear into the folds of flesh between his legs.

Arthur’s mouth grew dry and he dug his fingers into the mantle. No, he thought, this was not what he desired at all.

“Stop, Mordred,” Merlin said. “He doesn’t want you like this. Isn’t it obvious?”

In an instant, Mordred’s body transformed back to the boy Arthur recognized. Only now, Mordred was naked, his cloak pooled at his feet.

As a male, he was gorgeous, with lips stained the colour of berries and a stout cock that rose in a stiff erection. Arthur tried to catch his breath.

Merlin stepped toward Arthur and took his hand. Their fingers entwined in warmth.

“So, you perform magic by reciting spells?” Arthur said, reaching for his ability to speak.

“Yes,” Merlin said, smoothing the back of Arthur’s hand with his thumb. “And Mordred performs spells of transformation.”

Mordred took two long steps toward the fire and said, “I can perform spells as well, but my studies are not nearly as advanced as Merlin’s.”

To Arthur, he sounded almost apologetic.

“In time, Mordred, in time,” Merlin said with a sincere nod. “You learn more every day.”

Arthur felt Merlin’s eyes on his face.

“Arthur has seen enough magic for one day,” Merlin said. “I think we’ve found that we have other talents that might interest him more.”

Arthur followed Merlin as he led him to the heap of animal pelts that adorned the floor in front of the fire. The touch of Merlin’s hand was intoxicating.

“What do you want with me?” Arthur asked, his breath ragged.

“Everything,” Merlin said, his eyes wide.

“I want to go back to Camelot,” Arthur said, but it was recited from memory and without emotion. Although he wanted to ride home, there was something about Merlin that drew him nearer.

“But it’s been snowing all day,” Merlin said. “We wouldn’t want you to become lost in the storm.”

Arthur felt Merlin’s hands frame his face, comforting and arousing all in the same. He stared into his blue eyes, losing coherency of thought.

“Stay here with us for a while,” Merlin said.

Merlin’s breath washed over Arthur’s lips.

“Perhaps for a little while,” Arthur said.

“We only want what’s best for you,” Merlin said.

Arthur felt Merlin’s hands stroking through his hair. His fingers played across the nape of his neck before tugging him closer. Arthur was powerless to resist Merlin’s lips. He opened his mouth to Merlin and let him have his way, tasting Arthur with a dart of his tongue.

Arthur closed his eyes and let his arms enfold Merlin. His cock grew hard from the contact and from the sensation of Merlin’s tongue as it explored Arthur’s mouth. Arthur moaned at the tingle he felt as Merlin ran his tongue over his teeth. He sighed when Merlin’s tongue filled his mouth, seeking his taste. If the Druid wanted what was best for Arthur, he certainly found what he desired the most—and gave it to him unabashedly.

At Arthur’s back, Mordred’s fingernails grazed Arthur’s shoulders when he joined him and Merlin on the pelts.

“You must share him, Merlin,” Mordred said, his voice a whisper in Arthur’s ear.

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Merlin’s tongue was there, working its magic on Arthur, rendering him speechless.

“You’d like for us to share you,” Merlin whispered when he breathed again.

Arthur didn’t feel uncomfortable enough to object to Mordred’s hands as they slipped beneath the hem of his tunic and smoothed over his naked back. He wanted Merlin, and if his Druid brother was part of the arrangement, he could deal with it.

“Only if I can have you,” Arthur said, dipping his head to lick at the pale skin of Merlin’s neck.

“You can have me,” Merlin said reaching to cup Arthur’s breeches where his cock strained for release. “You can have us both.”

Arthur’s hips stuttered forward with the touch. Behind him, Mordred lifted the hem of his tunic over his head. Arthur shrugged out of the garment and tossed it on the floor beside the fire.

Merlin worked at the laces to Arthur’s breeches. Placing his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, Arthur kicked off his boots. Merlin wasted no time shoving Arthur’s breeches down, his erection springing free. Arthur stepped out of his smallclothes and kicked them aside.

The fire crackled in the hearth, heating Arthur’s bare skin. Murmuring appreciatively, Merlin returned his hand to Arthur’s cock. Arthur moaned at Merlin’s touch. He slipped his hands inside Merlin’s robe and stripped it off his shoulders. It dropped to the floor and Merlin stood naked in front of him. Arthur barely noticed as Mordred’s hands continued to roam over his backside.

“I want you,” Arthur murmured. He let his fingertips explore Merlin’s chest, admiring the unmarred skin that was unlike Mordred’s, whose chest was decorated with runes that were only visible in darkness. He kissed Merlin again, their mouths engaged with yearning.

Mordred bit down gently on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur regretted giving him so little attention, but it was Merlin he desired. He felt Mordred’s mouth as it kissed a trail down his back, moving inexorably lower. Finally, Mordred dropped to his knees. His hands palmed at Arthur’s arse, pushing each cheek apart until Arthur felt Mordred’s breath on his hole.

“You like that, don't you?” Merlin asked, his hands twined in Arthur's hair.

Arthur’s mouth went agape as he wondered how Merlin knew what Mordred had done to him. Merlin tried to kiss his shock way.

Arthur shuddered when Mordred licked a wet line from his balls to his hole. He felt Merlin smile against his lips. Gasping with pleasure, Arthur jolted forward when Mordred pressed his tongue flat against his puckered opening.

Through the haze of lust, Arthur lunged for Merlin's mouth, capturing it with his lips and plundering it thoroughly with his tongue. All the while, Mordred licked at his sensitive opening, his hands spreading Arthur wide.

“You can slow down a bit, Mordred,” Merlin said when he paused to breathe. “We don't want to use up all of our prince's passion at once.”

Arthur felt the chill of air on his arse when Mordred moved away. His cock leaked in sticky anticipation, dripping a clear trickle down Merlin's thigh where they stood.

Mordred crawled onto the pelts in front of the fire. Arthur watched him lie back, his curly hair spreading over the pelts behind his head. With a spit soaked palm, the young Druid stroked himself to full hardness.

“Will you stay with us tonight?” Merlin asked.

Returning to Camelot was the furthest thing from Arthur's mind. “Yes,” he said with a gasp, “of course.”

He pressed his forehead to Merlin's and breathed him in. He closed his eyes. He had never been so overcome by feelings of lust before—not in his chambers with his own hand, not with any of the maidens that threw themselves at his feet because he was a prince, and not with any of the princesses his father sought for a match.

When Arthur opened his eyes, he watched raptly at the sight of Merlin's fist around his own cock. It swelled, long and thick, from a tangle of dark curls, its plump head leaking with Merlin's arousal.

“Let's see what Mordred has in mind,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur let Merlin lead him to the furs where Mordred waited. The waning sunlight cast shadows through the room. The runes on Mordred’s chest glowed.

Merlin stepped onto the soft pelts and knelt with each of Arthur's hands in his own. He laced his fingers through Arthur's and let the tip of Arthur’s cock brush against his lips. A shiver of excitement ran up Arthur’s spine.

“We've been waiting so long for you,” Merlin said, his breath hot on Arthur's cock.

Arthur's hips hitched forward, begging for Merlin to take him into his mouth. But Merlin only smiled and teased the head once with a sly lick of his tongue. He tugged Arthur down to kneel on the furs with himself and Mordred.

Arthur's chest brushed against Merlin's as he pulled him into an embrace. His hands found Merlin's shoulders and he pressed kisses to his smooth neck while Mordred knee-walked across the pelts behind him. Arthur's cock dripped heavily onto the soft furs.

Arthur moaned when Merlin's thumbs found his nipples, sensitive and pert with the attention. Then, Mordred's hands were firm on his shoulders, gently pushing him forward. Merlin fell onto his back, taking Arthur with him, Arthur's thighs straddling Merlin's hips. Their cocks brushed together in the firelight.

Arthur claimed Merlin's mouth with a kiss. He plunged his tongue in and out of Merlin's lips while Merlin urged him on with soft moans that only incited Arthur's passion.

Arthur closed his eyes when Merlin's hands joined Mordred's in roaming over his back. He moaned in delight at the sensation of both pairs of hands touching his bare skin. Merlin's hands skimmed low and gently parted Arthur's cheeks. Arthur's eyes flew open when a fingertip breached him. He tore his mouth from Merlin's and twisted his neck to see Mordred behind him.

“Easy there, princess,” Mordred said, his lips twisted in a smirk.

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Merlin was there soothing him with sweet whispers and calming hands.

“Let him prepare you,” Merlin said, his voice a soft plea. His eyes flared gold and a pool of clear salve appeared in his palm.

Arthur let Merlin’s words convince him that he didn't mind Mordred teasing his hole. He’d allow anything if it meant he could hold Merlin in his arms, if he could drink him in and keep him for his own. He thrust backwards, offering up his arse for more of Mordred’s play.

Mordred rewarded Merlin for his interference with a gentle squeeze of his balls. Arthur blushed at the sensation of Mordred's hand reaching beneath him to fondle Merlin. But his reprieve was short-lived because Mordred's fingers dipped into the salve and returned to Arthur's arse where it joined a second finger that made Arthur gasp.

“Easy,” Mordred said, hushing him.

Arthur's arms went lax as he moulded his mouth to Merlin's. He drove his hips backwards, taking in as much of Mordred's fingers as he could.

Merlin’s mouth left Arthur’s. Instead, he pressed kisses to the underside of Arthur's jaw. “Can you feel it?” he whispered in Arthur's ear. “You're nearly ready.”

Arthur winced as Mordred stretched him further, but the discomfort lasted only momentarily. He pressed his knees into the velvety pelts and let his ache for Merlin overtake him. Humping wildly at Merlin's thigh, wishing for more friction, Arthur wanted Merlin inside him.

Merlin rutted at Arthur from below, but it was Mordred's cock that had to suffice for Arthur. Without so much as a warning, Mordred slid his own stiff cock into Arthur’s hole. Arthur pushed, trying to expel Mordred, but his deft fingers held him open as he speared him again and again.

Undaunted, Merlin writhed in pleasure against Arthur.

“I want to be inside you,” Arthur gritted out before licking Merlin's ear.

Behind him, Mordred suddenly stilled. Arthur felt the flood of come fill him as Mordred panted. Arthur ground his hips into Merlin, searching for friction enough to grant him his relief. He bit down on Merlin's earlobe when Mordred retreated, his cock slipping easily out of Arthur's hole.

Merlin cried out, but Arthur loosened his teeth’s grip and laved Merlin’s sensitive skin with tender licks of his tongue. 

Before Arthur knew what was happening, Mordred shoved him off Merlin. In one swift movement, Mordred swallowed Merlin’s cock down, eliciting a gasp from Merlin who still writhed beneath Arthur's tongue.

Arthur sucked at Merlin's neck, feeling him tense before he surrendered to Mordred's ministrations. Merlin convulsed with pleasure when he came, clinging to Arthur with his eyes rolled back in bliss.

From somewhere next to him, Mordred crawled his way along Merlin's body. Arthur craved the essence of Merlin's skin, as if his life depended on its sustenance.

“Taste him,” Mordred murmured, his mouth full of white froth.

Arthur dove forward and pressed his mouth to Mordred's, licking it open and drinking down Merlin's bittersweet offering.

Mordred plunged his tongue into Arthur's mouth while Merlin's hands grabbed at Arthur. Dragging him away from Mordred, Merlin took Arthur's mouth, tasting himself on the prince’s lips.

Arthur let Merlin lick until he was content. His fingers wound through Merlin’s dark hair while they kissed. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Merlin pleaded, tangling his legs with Arthur’s.

“Please,” Arthur whimpered, wanting nothing more than to mate with him. He freed himself and sat back on his heels to watch while Mordred slid his still slippery fingers into Merlin's hole, preparing him for Arthur.

Arthur smoothed his hands over Merlin's thighs, biting his lip to keep himself from coming just from the sight of Mordred's squelching fingers as they worked Merlin open. The room was dark, the sun set, only the light from the fire of the hearth guided him. Arthur squeezed the base of his cock with one hand and fondled Merlin's balls with the other, nudging Merlin's spent cock out of the way to give Mordred better access.

“Now,” Merlin panted, beyond ready. His eyes closed with lust.

Arthur felt Mordred pound his shoulder with a fist. He met Mordred's eyes and knew that it was time.

Sliding his arms beneath Merlin's knees, he spread Merlin's thighs wide. He felt Mordred's chest, flushed with heat, pressing against his back. His arms wrapped around Arthur's waist.

“Fuck me,” Merlin begged, canting his hips forward, offering himself up for all that Arthur would give him.

“If I wasn't already spent, we'd both take you,” Mordred said.

Arthur was having none of Mordred’s threats to usurp his place in Merlin’s arse. He lined up his cock with Merlin's entrance and pushed forward. At once, he was enveloped in heat so tantalizing that it brought tears to his eyes.

Mordred's hands found Arthur's hips and shoved him forward. Arthur threw his head back in ecstasy as Merlin engulfed his cock with tight warmth. Mordred dug his fingertips into Arthur's hips and pulled him backwards, so just the tip of Arthur's cockhead breached Merlin's hole. Arthur plunged forward again, and back, Mordred's hands keeping the rhythm with Arthur's hips.

“Take all of me,” Merlin moaned, his hands grasping aimlessly for Arthur.

Arthur bucked into him holding tight to Merlin’s thighs. His pleasure built, feeding on itself as he pounded into Merlin. His knot began to swell as he reached for his release.

“Come for him,” Mordred whispered into Arthur's ear, his hands losing their grip on Arthur's hips as Arthur stopped moving.

Merlin got Arthur's hands free from his legs. He pulled Arthur onto him, taking Mordred with him so the three of them ended up in a tangled mess of sweat-slicked skin.

Arthur felt his release wash over him, Merlin's body wrenching out every last drop of pleasure, his eyes bright with magic.

The knot at the base of Arthur's cock had swelled deliciously, stretching Merlin’s sheath wide. And for the first time, Arthur knew the thrill of what it was to find a mate. His sated cock remained inside Merlin long after his knot had subsided. In the silence, Arthur shuddered when he felt Mordred slip a finger into his hole, plunging it gently in and out to begin his arousal anew.

Still stuffed full with Arthur’s cock, Merlin placed his palm on Arthur’s cheek. “We must get some sleep,” Merlin said. “If it snows more, you may not be able to get back to Camelot in the morning.”

Arthur said, “Let it snow.”

~~~

One night turned into two.

And two turned into three.

The snow deepened outside the Druid's castle, but Arthur's every need for food and companionship was met. Arthur indulged himself in Merlin's bed, taking every opportunity to ravish the young sorcerer. In all of Arthur’s life, he never knew such satisfaction as when his knot swelled before filling Merlin with his seed. Occasionally Mordred would join them, his chest aglow with runes, a grounding beacon in the darkness.

One week passed.

Then two.

And on and on, until Arthur didn't care whether he returned to Camelot or not. Except for a niggling issue that invaded his mind each night when he took Merlin to bed.

Uther Pendragon would leave a legacy of hatred toward magic users when he left this earth… and before winter came, Uther had challenged his son to find a mate.

What if Arthur could resolve both of those trespasses against mankind and man with a single answer?

The wind howled against the castle windows, reminding Arthur that he still had some time to convince Merlin to return to Camelot with him. The spring days that would melt the snow seemed a long way off.

Days went by and with each sunrise, the drifts grew deeper. And Arthur's affection for Merlin grew more boundless than the clear blue sky that stretched above the snow-covered castle on the days when the snow ceased to fall. On the snowless days, Arthur would swear that he could see all the way to Camelot through the crisp winter air. 

In the weeks that passed, Arthur let himself daydream about a future with Merlin. If Merlin believed that he was destined to be Arthur’s mate, perhaps he would agree to go to Camelot with him. Arthur would appease his father, and some day, when Arthur became king, he would allow magic to return to the land.

It was the promise of a destiny that Arthur could not dismiss. Surely, this was nature’s divine purpose for Arthur, the road that led him to the glory he would achieve in his kingdom when Camelot became his own. It seemed that nature itself rewarded Arthur for his plans as winter began its retreat from the northern kingdom of thistle and brambles.

One night, while Merlin curled next to Arthur in a steaming bath, Arthur asked him about it.

“Do you believe in destiny?” Arthur murmured into Merlin's damp hair.

“I believe we are all destined to accomplish great things,” Merlin said, raising his hand out of the fragrant water to stroke Arthur's face.

“I think destiny guided me here so I would find you,” Arthur said, “so I could serve a greater purpose in Camelot.”

“I think your destiny guided you here to have your balls emptied nightly,” Mordred said, looking up from the book of spells he had been studying.

Merlin laid his thumb across his fingers and flicked a splash of water at Mordred.

From his seat by the window, Mordred glared at Arthur and Merlin in response.

The bath water, which had been on its way to cooling, suddenly surged anew with heat.

Arthur yelped as the steaming liquid swirled around his arse that rested on the tub bottom.

“You!” Merlin shouted as he pointed an accusing finger at Mordred. He quickly rose to his feet, the heated water splashing over the edge of the tub. 

Arthur only realized what had happened when he glimpsed the golden glow as it faded from Mordred’s eyes.

“Me,” Mordred said smugly.

“He can cast a spell without using words?” Arthur said.

“The winter has been long and rewarding for me,” Mordred said with a smile.

“You’re not supposed to use magic to harm others,” Merlin said. He touched his arse where the pale skin burned red from the scald.

“Don’t let him bother us,” Arthur said, settling back into the tub. He caught Merlin’s fingers with his own.

“Leave us, Mordred,” Merlin said. “I think you should take the book and study your magic elsewhere in the castle today.”

“Your behaviour is not fitting of a king, Mordred,” Arthur agreed, leaning forward to soothe the skin of Merlin’s rump with a kiss.

“I’ll show you both how to behave like a real king,” Mordred said. He rose from his chair and stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Merlin hung his head in grief. Mordred’s angry groans echoed off the walls of the corridor outside. After a few moments, Merlin regained his composure and returned his attention to Arthur. He knelt and let the water wash over him.

“Forget him,” Arthur said, pulling Merlin back into his arms. “I’m sorry he upset you.”

Merlin relaxed in Arthur’s embrace. “I was saying,” he began tracing his hand through the water, “I believe we are all destined to accomplish great things.”

“You did say that, before Mordred interrupted us,” Arthur said, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s temple.

“But those _things_ ,” Merlin said, his brow furrowed, “are sometimes only known by our deeper selves. They are the wishes that we dare not voice, lest we break the spell that would drive us to fulfil them.”

“I’m not afraid to voice my wish,” Arthur said, tightening his arms around Merlin.

“You may speak of it,” Merlin said, spearing his fingers through Arthur’s wet hair, “but be warned that sometimes we don't truly know what we are destined to accomplish… sometimes not until long after it is done.”

“I know what I want to accomplish most,” Arthur said, reaching through the hot water for Merlin’s cock.

“I know that I want to protect you, or die at your side,” Merlin said, stopping Arthur with his sombre words.

The castle was silent, save for Mordred’s sulking that permeated the stone walls as if it were a tangible thing.

“Do you know that I want you to return to Camelot with me?” Arthur asked.

“If that is your wish,” Merlin said, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s jaw, “it is my wish too.”

“What about Mordred?” Arthur asked reluctantly.

Merlin found Arthur’s hand in the water and pressed it to his heart.

“Only I can travel between the realms,” Merlin said, the colour rising on his cheeks, “now that we are mated.”

“And you couldn’t before?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It was impossible,” Merlin said shaking his head. “That’s why the army of imaginary Druids sought you out. They did my bidding to fulfil my greatest wish.”

“They brought me here so we would mate?” Arthur asked.

“Shhh,” Merlin said, pressing a finger to Arthur’s lips. “Mordred mustn’t know. He thinks he can travel as easily to your realm as I can now.”

“And he can’t?” Arthur asked.

“You were born of magic, Arthur,” Merlin said. “Because your mother used magic to conceive you, it has been our destiny to find each other.”

“That’s why I have my knot,” Arthur said, musing aloud. “That’s why none of my father’s selections of a mate appealed to me.”

“You are my mate, the one I have waited for. We have blended both the worlds, the one of man and the one of magic,” Merlin said. “Only our mating will ensure the prosperity of the world outside my kingdom. Only you can bring magic back to Camelot. I know you will serve well as the greatest king Albion has ever known.”

“With you by my side,” Arthur said.

Merlin sighed. “I will go with you,” he said. “Mordred can stay here and keep watch at the castle. He will guard over our realm while I am gone.”

“We’ll leave at first light,” Arthur said, for once, understanding the importance of the destiny that awaited him.

~~~

Arthur didn’t know what lies Merlin told Mordred before they departed in the morning.

He waited in the castle’s courtyard while Merlin explained that he would travel with Arthur to the border of Camelot. Beyond that, Mordred would have to wait for Merlin’s safe return. Whether that would occur in a day, a month, or a year, it did not concern Arthur.

Arthur and Merlin were forever bound to each other. He’d allow Merlin to return to Mordred’s northern kingdom as often as he pleased without fear that he might lose Merlin's affection.

Arthur had already said goodbye to Mordred after filling his satchel with enough food to sustain him and Merlin for the day of travel. By evening, they would be in Camelot. Sooner, if they found horses or a caravan to take them the distance.

Arthur could only imagine how surprised Uther would be when his lost son returned to him, and not alone—but with his beautiful mate. Uther would have no qualms about passing his crown to his son, not when he had selected a creature so enchanting to be his partner.

Merlin emerged from the castle and met Arthur in the courtyard. New grass sprouted from the ground beneath their feet. In the shady shadow of the castle wall, purple and yellow crocus burst through the remaining snow. Spring had arrived, and with it, Merlin and Arthur would begin their life together. It seemed fitting to Arthur.

“Are you ready?” Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded.

“I’m sorry to ask you to leave him,” Arthur said, taking Merlin’s silence for sadness.

“It is my destiny,” Merlin said with a wry smile.

The men set off and began to walk the long miles to Camelot.

Birds chirped and buds dotted the trees as they waited to blossom. The forest was alive with the scents and sounds of spring. Arthur couldn’t remember any of the journey he made previously along their route. He suspected the captors who brought him to Merlin didn’t care much to show him the scenery.

When the sun peaked in the sky, the men stopped to rest by a silver brook. Merlin took the waterskins to fill, while Arthur unpacked the food they had brought. Arthur watched Merlin curiously as he bent over to reach the water. He dreamed of how thrilling it would be to take him on the crisp crimson sheets that adorned his bed in Camelot.

“We’re making good time,” Arthur said when Merlin returned to him.

“It won’t be long before we reach the border of your kingdom,” Merlin said. “Do you suppose your father will recognise you?”

“Of course he will,” Arthur said, breaking a hunk of bread from a loaf and offering it to Merlin.

“How do you know?" Merlin asked, taking the bread.

Arthur chewed his food and swallowed. “I look like my mother—I have her colouring,” he said. “She was the love of my father’s life... just as you are mine.”

“I’m glad,” Merlin said with a bright smile.

“For what?” Arthur asked.

“I’m glad that he’ll recognize you,” Merlin said. “And that he’ll crown you as his heir.”

Arthur thought it strange that Merlin worried about whether Uther would recognize him. He had only been away for a few months. Although Uther had been impossible to please in recent years, and Arthur left Camelot in anger, he wouldn’t be surprised if Uther still had a search party patrolling for the missing prince. He was, after all, his only son and heir.

When they finished eating, Arthur and Merlin set off again. Arthur hoped that they would have come to a road by now, but the forest was dense with trees and only a few tracks from animals or hunters marked their way. Still, he could sense that they were getting closer to Camelot. He could feel the spirit of his homeland, he could taste it in the air.

“We’ll have to make camp if the sun sets before we reach Camelot,” Arthur said.

Merlin caught up to where Arthur stood on an outcrop of rock. He looked toward the sun that promised to last for less than an hour before it dipped below the horizon.

“Let’s keep going,” Merlin said.

They descended a gentle ridge which soon fanned out into a meadow edged in brambles.

“It’s here,” Arthur said, waving his hands over the land, taking in the familiar view, remembering the green hills and valleys beyond.

“Are we in Camelot now?” Merlin asked excitedly.

Arthur pointed at the bare earthen path that sliced through the land. “I recognize this track,” he said, flushed with the joy of returning to his kingdom with Merlin in tow. “Beyond that wall of brush is the stream where I stopped to water my horse when I first came to your kingdom.”

Merlin squinted into the sunset. The forest was bathed in an eerie light, the sun casting golden shadows across the meadow.

“Let’s go,” Arthur said, taking Merlin’s hand. But Merlin remained still.

“This is as far as you’re going,” Merlin said evenly.

“What?” Arthur asked, his eyes wide while Merlin’s eyes flared with gold. 

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked. Merlin's strange behaviour dampened Arthur's joy of being so near his home. “Merlin?”

Merlin turned his palm to the sky and a ball of fire appeared in his hand. He brought his arm back, ready to launch it at Arthur.

Arthur was mesmerized by the flame. It surprised him that it didn't burn Merlin’s skin. He narrowly escaped its fire, leaping out of the way as it exploded at his feet. 

“Merlin, what’s wrong with you?” Arthur asked. He grabbed Merlin by his thin shoulders. He pushed the hair from his eyes and pressed his forehead to Merlin's. “Why are you doing this, love?”

Merlin only smiled and turned his palm upward, another ball of fire illuminating the forest, the sunlight gone.

“Merlin, no!” Arthur shouted. He shook Merlin, trying to dislodge the flaming orb from his hand. In the scuffle, Merlin’s tunic slipped off his shoulder and that’s when Arthur noticed it—Merlin’s chest ablaze with runes.

“Mordred?” Arthur asked. His stomach rose in his throat. “What have you done to Merlin?”

Arthur pushed Mordred aside and gazed in the direction from which they travelled.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted.

“He only cared about protecting you,” Mordred said, his face shifting, reshaping itself before Arthur's disbelieving eyes.

“Mordred,” Arthur pleaded. “Where is Merlin?”

“He didn't think well enough of me to recognize that I would make a great king,” Mordred said.

Mordred raised the fireball high, but Arthur grabbed his arm before he could cast it at him. Instead, the fireball fell to the ground and burst into flames, knocking Arthur off his feet.

Arthur found himself curled into a ball, his arms protectively wrapped around his head. All around him, the forest smouldered from the flames that couldn't ignite the trees, heavy with moisture from winter's melt. Dirt and detritus from the forest floor covered Arthur, soiling his skin and clothing. Arthur ventured a peek from beneath his folded arms. Standing at the earthen track, Mordred stood ready to strike again... only he wasn't Mordred at all.

Each strand of Mordred's hair had taken on the golden blond of Arthur's. His eyes burned blue with a prince's determination. His clothing, the shape of his nose, the crooked teeth that marked Arthur's smile, bit by bit, Mordred transformed. Arthur watched in horror while Mordred became every inch the prince who would be king of Camelot.

Leaving Arthur for dead, Mordred ploughed toward the barrier of brambles that lined the earthen track, stepping over Arthur where he lay.

But he made no progress.

The brambles grew thicker before Arthur's eyes. Their sapling branches came alive to thwart Mordred, preventing him from reaching his goal.

“He has cursed me!” Mordred screamed in frustration.

“He hasn’t cursed you,” Arthur spoke from his position on the scorched ground. “You’re Mordred. You cannot cross into my realm.”

“No!” Mordred shouted. “Merlin has done some dark magic to prevent me from taking what should be mine.”

He turned to Arthur and wordlessly commanded another fireball to form in his palm.

“No,” Arthur said shaking his head. “Merlin has done only one thing. He has fulfilled his destiny to protect me or to die by my side.”

And with that, Mordred’s ball of fire met its target.

~~~

It was there that the king's men found him, asleep at the edge of the thistle and brambles.

They woke Arthur from where he lay. Their feet stamped out the flames from the smouldering sprouts at the northern border of Camelot.

“Merlin,” Arthur pleaded, grabbing at anything that moved. “I have to find Merlin.”

“Who is Merlin?” Leon asked.

“Is that who captured you?” Elyan asked, taking Arthur's chin in his hand.

Arthur looked into Elyan's eyes. His bewildered reflection was mirrored back to him.

“We saw no one else pass this way today,” Lancelot said. “We’ve been searching the forest for you for months, fearing we’d never see you alive again. We would have noticed if there was activity in this part of the forest.”

“Arthur is in need of medical attention. Let's get him back to Camelot at once,” Elyan said.

“The road,” Arthur cried. He wrenched his face away from Elyan and crawled on all fours, his eyes darting along the featureless forest. “Where is the road?” 

“What road?” asked Leon, clearly confused.

“The road that was right here," Arthur demanded. He got to his feet and spun in a wild circle, searching for that which could not be found in a forest or valley, in a castle or in a kingdom. “The road to Broðorsibba!”

“Broðorsibba?” Leon asked, his curly red locks bouncing when he gave each knight a questioning look.

Percival shook his head. “There is no road by that name, Sire,” he said.

“But the road was here!” Arthur couldn’t stop himself from tearing through the brambles where Mordred had once stood in Merlin’s disguise.

“Are you sure you haven’t spent too much time in the tavern?” Gwaine asked, tugging Arthur away from the thistle and thorns that scraped his fingers and tore his palms. “We don’t know what you’re talking about, and you don’t look well at all. We need to get you to Gaius.”

Leon glared angrily at Gwaine.

Gwaine's expression lost its humour as quickly as he had expressed it.

“And… we have grave news for you, Sire,” Leon said, bowing before Arthur as Gwaine clutched him in his arms.

Every man remained silent.

“The king is dead,” Leon said solemnly.

Behind Leon, each knight dropped to one knee.

When all was still, Leon’s voice echoed through the forest, “Long live the king!”

Arthur collapsed to the ground, his tears spilling from his eyes. Surrounded by his men, he sobbed. He didn’t notice the tiny butterfly that drifted past him as he grieved. It floated through the spring air, landing on Leon’s cape. The vibrant blue wings fluttered against the golden dragon embroidered on the crimson wool.

The end


End file.
